


i want you (to be happier)

by lightonthesea (crescenttwins)



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescenttwins/pseuds/lightonthesea
Summary: It’s comfortable, with Lelouch, for all that he’ll never be satisfied to be Suzaku’s paramour, hidden from the view of xenophobic elders.  Lelouch has dreams, beyond being a yakuza's bedmate in a foreign country, and Suzaku would never resent that.(this is not the yakuzaku!au you are looking for (probably))





	i want you (to be happier)

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not the yakuzaku!AU you are looking for >.> (that one is still in the works though, promise!)
> 
> Listened to Happier by Marshmello ft. Bastille while writing this, although it doesn't quite fit the finished piece? Maybe?

Somewhere, it is raining.

Suzaku hears about the Sixth’s death while he’s in Italy, sitting across from a Don wearing sparkling rings. The boss smiles as he expresses his regrets, lips twitching up from behind a faux frown. 

A breath over his ear as Ohgi confirms the report-- five dead, guns fired through a car window into a restaurant. 

Dark eyes sparkle at him over cheeks hiding glee. Suzaku exhales, meets their eyes. 

“We should return to the topic of the ports,” he says, and watches the disturbing cheer drain from the man’s face. Out of sight, Suzaku twists his fingers into his suit pants-- he has never felt the absence of his sword so acutely.  

Five hours later, the contract is done and signed in blood. The Don bows to him, an awkward tilt to the motion; it is courtesy Suzaku has never been offered before, and he eyes the man warily as they leave. 

The rain continues to fall as Suzaku boards his flight to Japan. As a rule, he never lingers in Italy; too many men with enough desire to send a message to the  _ intruding  _ Japanese. Suzaku lets Ohgi turn down the complimentary drinks while he pays an arm for the in-flight wireless. 

His father, as always, is furious beneath clipped, professional words. The Sixth’s funeral will take place the following day, he reads, and his successor will be announced following the ceremony. Be there.

The Sixth was young-- barely forty. He had no siblings, no wife, no children, no direct heirs. He was a righteous man, one who valued trust and loyalty over wealth. 

Suzaku closes his eyes: it will be messy, this ascension. If the Sixth has not declared a direct heir, his father will manipulate his way into nomination. Suzaku will be expected to fall in line, to prove his worth: his father’s worth. The Italian contract sitting in his bag is Genbu’s first ace, the first step to sway the minds of older clansmen who value action over words.

The news is reporting the shooting as senseless murder. When their clan’s relation to the store is discovered, the tone of the people on the screen will transform from sorrow to condemnation. 

His phone pings with a new message, a request from Lelouch to see him after the funeral. Suzaku accepts with numb fingers. It’s a bit embarrassing to forward the request onto Ohgi to clear out that time slot in his schedule, but the man doesn’t laugh from across the aisle, just toggles around events and starts typing rapidly. With everything going on-- it will likely be the last time he sees Lelouch privately for some time.

Suzaku turns his eyes to the endless sea of clouds. It is comforting, to think of the European man. Lelouch is uncomplicated, a respite from the bloodshed and hidden words that make up the yakuza hierarchy. He is long limbs with too little fat, neatly trimmed hair, a low toned voice. It’s  _ comfortable _ , with Lelouch, for all that he’ll never be satisfied to be Suzaku’s paramour, hidden from the view of xenophobic elders. 

Lelouch has dreams, beyond being a bedmate in a foreign country, and Suzaku would never resent that. 

\-----

The funeral is heavy, full of silences that weight down his lungs.

If it rains, Suzaku cannot tell.

\----

Lelouch’s apartment feels barren, after the cloying scent of decaying flowers and huddled bodies of mourning brethren. Lelouch says it is  _ minimalistic _ , the kind of fashionable living of men who grew up wealthy. 

To Suzaku, it feels like Lelouch is preparing to flee. It feels like Lelouch is rejecting tethers to this place, rejecting anything that can keep him tied to Japan, to this town, to Suzaku.

It’s an ugly feeling, desire.

Lelouch strips his soaked suit jacket from his shoulders, presses warm hands to Suzaku’s shivering cheeks. The wet cloth slaps the flooring. 

“Where did you go just now, hm?” Lelouch says, soft, and his thumbs are brushing over Suzaku’s cheekbones. The motion is comforting, and Suzaku presses into it, letting his eyes slide shut. 

“Nowhere,” Suzaku hums, “I’m here.” 

Lelouch laughs, pets Suzaku’s cheeks for a moment more. “Is that so.”

“Where else could I have gone?” 

Lelouch tugs at Suzaku’s collar, looking for signs of injury (of infidelity). “Somewhere far away,” he says, “somewhere I couldn’t reach.” He sounds distracted, and Suzaku bats his hands away gently.

“I’m all yours now,” Suzaku says.

Lelouch makes a sound of agreement, wraps a hand around Suzaku’s neck. “But for how long?”

“As long as you want me,” Suzaku promises (lies). 

The smile he gets in return is slow, a creeping thing over Lelouch’s cheeks. He kisses it, wants to see those lips go swollen and soft. “Promises are dangerous,” Lelouch says, tapping his neck, “with words like those I’ll kidnap you and return to Italy.”

Suzaku thinks of Italian Dons, their heavy suits with guns and smiles hidden in frowns. “Italy may not suit me,” he offers, sneaks in another kiss.

Lelouch laughs, not unkindly. “You haven’t been to the right parts of Italy, yakuza.” He leans in, sets his lips to Suzaku’s pulse. “There are parts of Italy that would swallow you, treat you better than a clan of men stuck in old tradition.” He suckles a mark into Suzaku’s neck, far above where his shirt collar will hide in the morning. 

The words are poison, Suzaku knows: ideas of a foreigner, spitting on the values that have kept the clan strong, generation after generation. It’s an enchanting venom that slides under his skin if he doesn’t keep careful watch. Because it is a fantasy: being able to walk the streets of Italy with Lelouch at his side, hip bare of a sword, sunlight staining his hair light. 

It is not reality. It can never be reality. 

Suzaku strips his shirt off, lets it meet his jacket on the floor. They reach for each other, a collision of volatile thoughts, and Suzaku lets himself burn.

Rain clings to the window, slips downwards like a tear on a cheek.

\-----

No clan comes forward to claim responsibility for the Sixth’s murder. 

It is expected, given the cowardly way their oyabun was hunted down.

The clan elders agree that Suzaku should join the squad investigating the murder; his father’s eyes are proud. 

\-----

“You apologize too much,” Lelouch says, brushing Suzaku’s hair away from his face. “Here, they take it as humility and courtesy; in my country, only weak fools are constantly saying sorry.”

“Sorry,” Suzaku grins, and wriggles his fingers against skinny ribs. 

The sound of Lelouch’s laughter is worth the kick to the chin, worth the disapproval at the edge of his father’s lips. It is worth the long nights with his fingers clutched around sword or pen, the tension that rings pain throughout his head, the feeling of his shoulders buckling under burdensome orders. 

Suzaku collapses on Lelouch, letting the other male take his weight. The shrieking and flailing lasts only a moment before Lelouch settles, patting Suzaku’s back slightly harder than necessary.

“Stop smacking me,” Suzaku complains half-heartedly.

“Stop suffocating me,” Lelouch returns, but there’s no furrow in his brow when Suzaku looks.

Suzaku presses an obnoxious kiss to Lelouch’s cheek, blows out through pursed lips to make a horrid, squealing sound. 

Lelouch’s lips twitch.

When he leans down to do it again, the older male twists his head, catches his lips instead.

The press of Lelouch’s lips against his is worth most things, Suzaku thinks.

( _ Westerners have no respect for their elders _ , his father said once, when Ohgi tells (tattles) on one of his trysts with Lelouch,  _ their minds are self-centered and greedy. _

The words clatter in his mind against Lelouch’s eyes, sparkling as he describes the rehabilitation center he’s building for his sister in Italy.)

\----

“What is keeping you here?” Lelouch mutters against Suzaku’s shoulder, brow furrowed.

Suzaku blinks, lifts the sheets to confirm they are still bare beneath.

The staccato rain harmonizes perfectly with Lelouch’s spluttering breath.

(It’s an addicting feeling, desire.)

\-----

The bullets recovered from the bodies aren’t available domestically, signs of foreigners or strong foreign relations. The gun model, when they trace it back, is a favorite of the Italians. 

The contract Suzaku carried into the funeral becomes a bomb instead of a boon. 

\-----

Lelouch isn’t wearing shoes when he opens the door to his apartment. Suzaku’s eyes catch on the delicate curve of his smallest toes, half-curled away from sight.

“Suzaku,” Lelouch says, soft.

The sound vibrates against Suzaku’s tense muscles, makes them ache in a way that has nothing to do with pain. “Lelouch,” Suzaku says, accepts the embrace so he can tuck his head into the other’s neck.

“Suzaku,” Lelouch says again, but the sound is different, resounding. It sounds like a victory bell, from where Suzaku’s ear is pressed against Lelouch’s throat. 

\----

His father’s jaw is tight when they report the weapon’s source to the elders. He does not refute the Kururugi branch’s Italian contacts when the other elders question him. He denies any role in the Sixth’s death. 

In words spanning many mouths and many minutes, the elders remove Genbu Kururugi from the line of succession: doubt of his loyalty, of his role in the Sixth’s death. The manipulation that Genbu thought subtle is laid out, his desire for the oyabun position pinned to the mats and torn apart, until he is the irrefutable traitor.

\-----

Lelouch’s apartment is more bare than usual, the minimalism stripped away for emptiness.

\-----

Anger builds in his father’s face with each damning agreement: rage that manifests in barbed words and bruises on Suzaku’s back when the meeting is long finished.

When his father returns to his rooms, fury diminished, Suzaku escapes to the courtyard. The tears that drip down his face are not self-pity, not responses to the pain. The tears that mix into the winter rain are ones of white-hot shame: for the first time in his life, Suzaku doesn’t know if his father is guilty.

\-----

“Do you trust me, Suzaku?” Lelouch asks, pressing cool lips to Suzaku’s temple.

\-----

The Kururugi branch cracks under the heel of the new clan head, and its splinters are tossed into the street.

\-----

  
“Come to Italy,” Lelouch whispers, twists his fingers into Suzaku’s hair as he smiles. “Be part of  _ my  _ Famiglia instead.”

**Author's Note:**

> was the ending a surprise? :O
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> At some point in some place (probably cgkinkmemeii also?), someone asked for mafia!Lelouch meets yakuza!Suzaku. If that prompter is around, hope you liked this take on it! o/
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate and am motivated by comments if you would like to leave one. At the same time, replying gives me a lot of stress-- so if you don't receive a reply, please know that I treasure your words very much. <3


End file.
